


a plague on both of your houses

by nevereverever



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: ASL, Copious Tea, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everybody Lives, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Nightmares, One Shot, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sickfic, chickenpox, hard of hearing character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 13:08:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20546663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevereverever/pseuds/nevereverever
Summary: “Are you honestly saying that none of you ever got chickenpox as children?” Isadora asked, staring at the three Baudelaires, completely bewildered. They looked a mess, all curled up on the couch, sweaty, pale and covered in red spots.“No, none of us did and now as penance, we are dying,” Sunny replied, deadpan, “woe is me.”orSickness in the Baudelaire-Quagmire Household is always a bit of a crisis. But blanket forts, tea, and family can make it a little easier.





	a plague on both of your houses

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks. 
> 
> This just... happened. It makes me pretty happy, I don't know. Be mindful of any triggers that might be in the tags, stay safe loves.
> 
> Also, there is some use of ASL in this fic (it's in bold), and I'll put a little more discussion of it in the bottom notes. Happy reading!

“Are you honestly saying that none of you ever got chickenpox as children?” Isadora asked, staring at the three Baudelaires, completely bewildered. They looked a mess, all curled up on the couch, sweaty, pale and covered in red spots.

“No, none of us did and now as penance, we are dying,” Sunny replied, deadpan, “woe is me.” She rubbed her hand across her forehead and whimpered. 

“You’re not dying Sun, don’t say that,” Violet chastised from inside of her blanket burrito.

“She’s dying Violet, and so are you. We’re all dying in the grand scheme of things. The Sword of Damocles hangs over us throughout our lives...” Klaus trailed off with a yawn, then a wince.

“You are all going to be fine,” Isadora sighed, “Luckily you have three immune-to-chickenpox people who love you here to take care of you. Four if you count Bea. No, don’t count Bea, Bea is 10.”

“Love cannot stop the ever powerful force of death from encroaching, Iz,” Klaus slurred, resting his head on Violet’s shoulder like talking had taken the remainder of his energy. She wiggled an arm out from her blanket and put a hand on his waist. Sunny had her head in his lap, gazing blearily into the middle distance. 

It was the kind of scene which, like many in life, may have been enjoyable to watch if one were unaware of the suffering underpinning it. Like a circus. Like a birthday party, missing too many friends. This time, they were safe, they were cared for, and yet in the haze of fever their minds couldn’t help but wander to the terror that still lived in their blood.

“You’re being dramatic, darling,” Duncan piped up from his place at the stovetop, tone light and breezy. He finished adding the milk and honey to the tea and very carefully walked the mugs to the couch.

“Don’ call me that,” Klaus mumbled. Violet tugged him a little closer and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. The fever medicine was doing its job, and despite their itchy skin, they were both drifting towards sleep. They fought against its pull, though, afraid of the dramatic man their bad dreams always held.

“You know he didn’t-” she whispered in return. He nodded. Connotations of a word, though often overlooked, can still wound. Isadora caught it, and the sadness in her eyes hurt. She sat next to Violet, put a hand on her thigh.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” Violet nodded, yawned. Duncan set the mugs of tea on the table then squeezed between Violet and Klaus. Sunny reached for her mug, the one with the daisies that Isadora got her for her birthday. The movie started to play, some old mystery film.

“When’s Quig coming home?” Violet said, curling against Isadora who wrapped her arm snugly around her sick friend.

“Soon, really soon,” she said. Quigley was supposed to be at a conference all weekend but was driving home early due to this evolving family emergency.

Violet's eyes drifted slowly shut, and Klaus and Sunny focused on the screen, so Isadora turned to Duncan. **D-r-a-m-a-t-i-c**, she fingerspelled, **bad w-o-r-d.**

Duncan winced, realizing his mistake. **Thanks, sorry**, he responded with his unoccupied hand. He kissed his boyfriend’s shoulder in a different kind of silent apology. Bea was hard-of-hearing, a lingering effect from her exposure to the Medusoid Mycelium as a baby, so they were all sign competent. They also found it helped on days when words were too hard, or for quiet conversations.

“This sucks,” Klaus murmured, grabbing his mug, the deep blue one with little white constellations. He tried, but his shaking hands couldn’t bring it close enough to drink. Duncan curled his steady hands around Klaus’ and brought the cup to his lips, gently coaxing it away after a moment.

“I know, love, you’ll feel better soon.”

“Can’t focus,” he grumbled. He hated the fever, that it took away his sharpness, made him soft and vulnerable. Hated being vulnerable if he couldn’t protect himself.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to focus. I’ll be in charge of the brainpower for a bit,” he replied, poking his boyfriend's stomach. Klaus laughed, fully laughed, and it was the sweetest sound. Sunny shushed them with all the energy of a very angry sloth.

“I am trying... to watch... the movie!”

Violet woke up on fire and in pain. She was crying, but the tears only made her hotter. She was gasping for breath but it didn’t make a difference when she breathed in the thick dark smoke that pricked her skin. 

"Violet?" Someone called, obscured by the smoke she was choking on.

"Burning," she rasped, reaching out for anything to hold onto. A cool, smooth hand took hers.

“That'd be the fever, love. It's okay, it’s a dream. Open your eyes.” She hesitated. Her eyes were already open, she saw the flames and the crumbling wood and the dying. But she trusted that voice. It sounded like cool, fresh air. She opened her open eyes and saw Quigley, saw brown eyes and home and air.

She gasped, her breath too deep, too uncontrolled.

"It was a dream, love, you're okay." They never said ‘just a dream.’ Each of them was acquainted in their own way with the fact that dreams were not merely a just. They could wound. It was a dream, it was over, she survived, that was what was important.

"Not- real- dead- you were- this isn't real" she stammered, terrified. He gripped her hand a little too hard.

It took him what felt like an eternity to talk her down, to assure her that they were alive, he was there. It felt like eons of quiet murmuring and soft kisses, of “I’m here. I’m real. You’re okay, you’re okay, just breathe, sweet girl. I love you, I love you, I love you.” When she relaxed enough to move, she put her forehead on his shoulder, and he held her steady with a hand on the nape of her neck.

"Where are Klaus and Sunny?" she asked, what was probably only a few minutes later. Her eyes fell on her mug of tea, the pastel pink one, still full and alone on the table.

“In Klaus and Duncan’s bedroom. They’ve made a fort. Bea is home now too. She’s very worried about you,” he took a breath, “I am, too.”

“Just chickenpox,” she said, her voice muffled in the soft cotton of his shirt, “I feel gross. ‘M so glad Bea is vaccinated.” Quigley chuckled. Even very sick, his girl couldn’t help but to take care of her family.

When they made their way to the bedroom, there was perhaps one of the greatest blanket forts in the history of blanket forts. Someone, Isadora, probably, had managed to hang quilts from the ceiling. Violet was impressed, but she was also about to faint and so itchy.

Bea looked surprisingly calm, but the little wrinkle between her brows, the downturned corners of her lips betrayed that she was holding something in. 

“Bumblebee,” Violet said, holding out her arms. Bea crawled into them, hugging her big sister tightly. Violet didn’t have the heart to tell her that it hurt her skin. “What’s got you so worried, little one?” Bea pulled away and looked around to Klaus’ sleeping figure, to Duncan reading a book with one hand, petting Klaus with the other, to Isadora knitting with her feet in Duncan’s lap. Then to Sunny.

**Worried about Sunny**, Bea signed. **Bad brain**. Violet looked to where Sunny was resting, shivering, but otherwise motionless.

**Tell her a story**, she signed back. She scooped Sunny up, arms shaking with the effort, her baby sister a little heavier than she was when she was little. She didn’t know what she’d do once she couldn’t pick her baby up anymore. Probably cry into Klaus’ shoulder for a while.

Sunny’s breath was coming quick and shallow, her eyes glazed with tears. Bea started talking, a story from the island. Violet wasn’t sure how she could have remembered it, it might have just been from the book. Bea’s words were round and bright, and the tension in Sunny’s body started to come undone. She relaxed slowly, becoming melty and pliant in Violet’s arms. Suddenly, she wrinkled her nose and itched at a spot on her forehead.

“Thanks, little thing,” she breathed out, “your voice always brings me back.” Bea put a hand on her sister’s forehead, feeling for a fever. She breathed a heavy sigh of relief after a second.

“Love you.”

“Love you too, Beep. Where’s Quig?” Sunny asked, coming a little closer to reality by the second. She pulled away from Violet because she could feel her sister shaking with the effort of holding her up. Violet offered a million praises to every god she could think of for being able to lie down.

“Making dinner. Someone has to with you down for the count,” Iz whispered. “You guys lie down, I’ll go check on him.” Klaus was still dead asleep, and his sisters were getting there too. Bea planted a kiss on each of the Baudelaire’s foreheads, then followed the Quagmires to the kitchen.

“She’s a good egg. The best egg,” Sunny slurred, curling around Klaus, who barely stirred. 

“Turtle egg,” Klaus said, still in the grip of sleep. His sisters giggled a little. They all clung tighter to each other. Maybe now, in this safest of places, they could finally dream sweetly.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! I do love my kids. Drop me a comment if you feel so inclined
> 
> ASL Talk  
Alright so. I edited the grammar a little bit to be more like SSE instead of ASL because sometimes the s-v-o word order of ASL looks weird written and makes it seem like the characters aren't speaking "correctly" (big quotation marks there). There are mostly short sentences here that are one or two signs, but still. Also, if you caught near the beginning that Isadora is fingerspelling, its because she only has one hand (word and dramatic are two-handed signs). Anyway ASL is a beautiful language and I'd love to write more in the future <3. Feel free to call me out if I did anything wrong. Also I headcanon Bea as HOH and you can fight me on that one.


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